


We Are Not in Love

by ellipsometry



Series: ✧SASO 2017✧ [11]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, spicy AND sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: It goes like this: Tendou will always approach Oikawa first, looking like he know he shouldn’t but can’t help himself.  They fight, they fuck, always tucked away in some shadowy corner.  Sometimes Tendou will suck Oikawa down until Oikawa is crying as he comes, fingers white-knuckled in Tendou’s greasy, over-gelled hair.  Or sometimes Oikawa will let Tendou fuck him, biting down his moans as he comes untouched, averting his eyes when Tendou follows.





	We Are Not in Love

**Author's Note:**

> [written for SASO bonus round 3!](https://saso-afterhours.dreamwidth.org/43942.html)

Oikawa hates that he can feel Tendou’s smile as they kiss. It might even be his least favorite thing about Tendou Satori, second only to his terrible fashion sense, his insufferable attitude, the way he never _fucking_ stops talking--

“Stop thinking mean things about me, Tooru-kun,” Tendou breaks their kiss to whisper in Oikawa’s ear. Not a second later he nudges his knee up in between Oikawa’s legs, grinding against the obvious hardness in Oikawa’s jeans. Forward as always.

“Shut up,” Oikawa’s response is toothless, so he just reaches his hands under Tendou’s shirt, nails biting small red marks against the pale, freckled skin. He gets no response out of Tendou, no matter how much he wants one.

Instead, Tendou laughs, “I take it your date with Wakatoshi-kun didn’t go well?”

“Shut up.”

“What’s that, your second shitty date this week?” Tendou cocks his head to the side, lips curling, “Your date with Issei-kun was equally bad, huh?”

“I said shut _up_ ,” Oikawa pushes Tendou away, pulling down his jeans, “Are we gonna do this or not?”

“Impatient, Tooru-kun! I don’t have much time today, so,” Tendou shrugs, unzipping his own pants as well and reaching for Oikawa’s cock, which is already hard and weeping against his hip. Oikawa hisses at the contact, throwing his head back, where it makes a sick _thud_ against the door of the bathroom stall they’ve co-opted.

“You’re always so wet,” Tendou marvels, the typical sing-song lilt of his voice fading for a bit, “I might not even need lube to fuck your thighs.”

Oikawa bites back an unseemly noise, swatting Tendou’s hand away and maneuvering himself so that he’s pressed up against the wall, back arched, ass presented. He’s so embarrassed and so rock hard he feels like he might pass out any second.

“Cute,” Tendou smacks Oikawa’s ass lightly, pulling out a small bottle of lube from his jacket pocket. Of course he carries that around, Oikawa thinks, as Tendou makes quick work of slicking up his thighs. Of fucking course.

“You are such a sight to see, Tooru-kun.”

“I already told you to shut up,” Oikawa hates that tone Tendou uses sometimes, where he’ll go uncharacteristically quiet, voice raspy and hushed, like he’s just chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes.

“Rude, rude, rude,” Tendou tuts, smacking Oikawa’s ass again, immediately smoothing the reddened flesh with the heel of his palm.

“I swear to god I will kill you in your sleep one day,” Oikawa mumbles, teeth gritted.

“Oh?” Tendou grins, sliding the head of his cock against Oikawa’s puckered asshole, just enough to tease, “Is that your way of telling me you’re finally gonna take me home?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, just bites his tongue to keep himself from whining in need, from feeding Tendou’s already extra-large ego. It’s no matter; Tendou just chuckles to himself, gripping Oikawa’s hips with both hands, sliding between his slicked-up thighs. The first bit of friction between their cocks sends Oikawa reeling, eyes rolling back in his head.

“No more back-alley fucks?” Tendou grunts, folding himself over Oikawa’s back until he can mouth at the space between Oikawa’s shoulder blades, “You’re gonna take me out for a nice dinner, be a gentleman. And maybe I’ll even put out at the end of the night, hm? We could fuck missionary on a real bed for once, and fall asleep right after like an old married couple.”

Another thing Oikawa hates about Tendou Satori: how composed he is during sex. It’s nothing to him, to keep chatting like they’re just having a casual conversation, and not fucking like animals in the dim-lit bathroom of a crowded bar.

“Y-You wish,” Oikawa gasps, his fingers scrambling against the glossy surface of the bathroom stall. Tendou’s words make him sick to his stomach, maybe because his little fantasy stands in such stark contrast to what actually happens every time they meet up.

It goes like this: Tendou will always approach Oikawa first, looking like he know he shouldn’t but can’t help himself. They fight, they fuck, always tucked away in some shadowy corner. Sometimes Tendou will suck Oikawa down until Oikawa is crying as he comes, fingers white-knuckled in Tendou’s greasy, over-gelled hair. Or sometimes Oikawa will let Tendou fuck him, biting down his moans as he comes untouched, averting his eyes when Tendou follows. 

Oikawa still doesn’t know what Tendou looks like when he orgasms. He never _wants_ to know, never wants to unconsciously file that image away for use during lonely nights. Oikawa never wants to accidentally superimpose that image over the face of someone else he leads into bed, over the face of someone he might actually _care_ about.

And so, tonight is no different. Oikawa reaches for his cock, but Tendou swats his hand away as per usual. They come within a few minutes of each other; the convenient synchronization is a sick joke as far as Oikawa is concerned.

“Excellent work as always, Satori-chan,” Oikawa says, after they’ve cleaned up and haphazardly smoothed all the wrinkles out of their clothes. His tone is crisp on purpose, almost professional; he wants Tendou to know that this isn’t a relationship, or even an arrangement. It’s a service, and one that Oikawa can discontinue at any time.

“You’re quite welcome,” Tendou says, tilted smirk in place.

But Oikawa, observant as always, doesn’t miss the way Tendou swallows a lump in his throat, or the fact that his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s none of his business, he thinks as he heads out of the bathroom, rejoining the fray. At least, it shouldn’t be.

Because what Oikawa hates most about Tendou Satori is the look he gets in his eyes every time he watches Oikawa walk away.


End file.
